From Me To You Read online

  From Me To You

  Chapter 1

  Encounters of the Fourth Kind

  “This is an awesome one, and I’m sure you’ll love it. Here, let me put the ones you don’t want back.”

  That’s what this guy with the grayest eyes said to me as I stood in the middle of a book store trying to figure out what I wanted to get. I held four books in my arms and I had to put at least one back; my budget was getting low and I wasn’t getting paid again for another week.

  Just two minutes ago I was standing here minding my own business. Well, sort of. The guy standing in the aisle next to me probably thought there was something wrong with me by the way I was staring at him.

  But I wasn’t staring at him though. I was staring at the book he was looking at. More specifically the cover of it. It was a bright purple and green with a picture of a wizard fighting a guy with a sword. It looked intriguing and I was contemplating maybe getting it too.

  I looked around some more. Another guy was looking at manga – a series that I owned every volume of and loved to pieces. I could probably tell you more about that story then my own childhood. I wanted to walk over there and tell him to get it. Get it and cherish it and pass it down to his children so they can pass it down to their children therefore making it a family heirloom.

  It’s all thanks to that one random lady in that one random bookstore, he would say. I’d be a legend.

  I could text my boyfriend to help me with this situation, but he was unaware of the extent of my little “book problem” was. He knew I liked books, some of the books in my collection were ones he had given me when we had first started dating. Old classics that even he knew of, but didn’t really know much about. No, he couldn’t help. I had a secret that I didn’t even want to tell him about – even after we had been dating for three years and the 9 years of friendship before that.

  I’m a little bit of a fujoshi.

  Not that that’s a bad thing. So what if I enjoy reading about two men in the throws of the purest passion? I had a friend in middle school – she’s the one who introduced me to manga. Fullmetal Alchemist, Fairy Tail, Naruto – basically all the awesome OG’s of our generation. She would give me a bag full of them for me to read in the week and the ones I liked (which – if we’re going to be honest here – most of them I did) I would wait for my allowance and buy them for myself. One time she gave me a bag that she had accidentally put a BL book into.

  I was shocked and horrified. Who in their right minds would think this is pure? Good? Gentle?

  Lord, it was all of that and more to my 14-year-old pubescent mind. This was the holiest of holy. What could be better than sitting down and reading a good old shoujo manga? By God, it was sitting down and reading this pure fluff that was yaoi.

  I’ve graduated to the pure porn at this point, but it’s been four years and I think I’m allowed to make adult decisions like that now. I have one of those books in my arms; all pinks and reds. Two guys in a passionate embrace surrounded by roses are adorned on the cover, and I’ll be damned if I don’t buy it today.

  It’s this I’m looking at when what’s-his-face comes up and starts talking without preamble. He’s honestly got the grayest eyes I’ve ever seen. More blue in some lights and more of a charcoal in others. A mess of bronze hair was flopped down on his forehead in loose curls and he had the kinda mouth you could tell was constantly in a smile – his upper lip too thin to match the fuller bottom.

  He was cute, but I wasn’t sure where he came from, or who the hell he is.

  I grabbed the book he had taken out of my arms back from him, “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

  He scratches the stop of his head making a lose curl stick up, “Ian Spence,” he says.

  “Okay, Ian Spence, what the hell are you doing?” I say. I stand up straighter, trying to make myself look more of a threatening presence. I was 5’9, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to treat me like I’m a lesser being just because I’m a girl.

  I can kick his ass if I want to!

  He points at the book I had just taken from him, “I’ve read it – shitty ending. Now if you want a good book I recommend this one,” he reaches behind him to a shelf that even I would have had trouble reaching, and plucks one off it.

  A girl with fiery red hair is on the front, you can’t see her face from the shadows. Ian then takes the book back out of my hand and returns it where I had originally gotten it.

  “Thank you?” It comes out as more of a question, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “You’re welcome.” His fingers tapped against his thigh and he took it as an opportunity to talk some more, “I read that one at the beginning of this summer. It’s got everything you could ever dream of; action, adventure, romance. The girl on the cover kicks some serious ass, but I won’t give you any spoilers. You’re going to have to read it for yourself.”

  I can’t help it, I smile at him, “Sounds like it’s a good one. Thank you, Ian. I’m Analyse, by the way.”

  “Analyse,” he says my name in three syllables An-a-lyse. Almost in a whispered tone. He waved bye to me and I stared after him in confusion for a moment before I decided to just pay for the books I have.

  Damned if I have the money for it or not.

  ***

  My phone vibrated in my pocket as I was throwing my bag and books into the backseat of my car. I frowned at it – nobody really ever texted or called me unless it was an emergency.

  Or Dad wanted pizza.

  “Ana!” Jet said loudly from the other end. Loud music was playing in the background and I could hear people yelling.

  I wouldn’t say we were “in love” with each other. In fact, I think our relationship was better when we were just friends. But for some reason I couldn’t find the right way to tell him, and now we were starting our third year together as a couple.

  I’m going to break up with him as soon as the new term starts, though.

  “What are you doing?” He had to shout and it was hurting my ear. I wanted to get our conversation over with.

  “Leaving work,” Which was technically true. I worked in a small Starbucks next to the bookstore.

  “What to come over?” More shouting and hollering.

  “Who is that?” I demanded.

  “Just some of the guys.” He says innocently.

  I roll my eyes, “just some of the guys” is code for “We’re all over here getting trashed and I want you to drive me home.”

  “Are they drunk?” I ask him.

  “Naw, babe. They’re practically sober.” He tries to make it sound like it’s something simple, and I’m sure to them it probably is, but I’m not having a bunch of drunken boys in my car.

  I mean for one I just cleaned the damned thing. I don’t need them throwing up their whatevers into the backseat.

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” I hung up before he could protest and got into my car. I had to roll down my windows all the way; my A/C was shot.

  Unfortunately, that meant I had to turn my radio up all the way and everyone and their grandma knew exactly what edgy shit I was listening to that day. Today though it was just a local pop station; the only radio station that my car got that wasn’t static.

  My brain was focused on one thing right now: getting home and reading. No more boyfriend, no more weird guy at the book store. Just me and my two boys who will probably try to consume each other in any way they can.

  Summer was almost over – I’m going to be a senior in two days, which meant I have to get as much of my trashy reading in before the start of the school year. Before I have to experience 8 hours in a personal hellscape.

  I pulled into the driveway up to my small two story house. Dad was outside digging in our flower bed. When I was a ki
d he would change out the flowers every couple months.

  “Ana,” He would say with his dirty arm around my shoulder, “you have to take perfect care of your flower bed if you want to raise good little flowers. You’ll be grown soon and it’ll no longer be up to me to tend to you anymore.”

  Then he would smear dirt all over my face and tell me to go outside more instead of hiding inside. I was never an athletic child. I went outside when it was necessary, and spent most of my time inside with a book in front of my nose. But I was happy and content, and I knew my dad was happy and proud of me – that’s all that really matters, honestly.

  Dad looked up at me – dirt smeared all around his face. He was planting blue and yellow flowers, mainly mums and morning glories in the front yard to show off my school colors. He was more excited about me getting to go back to school than I was. Or it was that he was happy to know I managed to survive to see my 18th birthday, and was able to go to school for another year. Either way, really.

  “How’re you today, Ana?” He asked, he had draped an arm across my shoulders and walked with me into the house. He used me as a support as he struggled to take his shoes off and we went and sat at the kitchen table once he was all situated.

  “Just peachy, father,” I smiled at him.

  No matter how shitty of a boyfriend I have, or how crappy of a job I have, I’d always get to come home to see my dad’s dirty face. That made me happy.

  I knew my dad had it hard. I didn’t grow up with my mom – or really have any sort of relationship with her.

  Dad probably could have dated when he was younger. He was landed with me when he was young, too young to be having to single-handed take in an infant. But he managed with what he had. He would try to make me feel better when I would ask him about it by telling me all he needed was his flowers and me, but it never stopped me from feeling guilty.

  No matter what, though, he did the best to his ability. He’d make up stories for me when I was small. Dress up as princesses when I decided that it wasn’t fair that I was always the one who had to be the princess. I wanted to be a knight or a wizard. Someone who could save him instead of having to be the one that had to be saved.

  “What do you say, kid?” He asked me. He had been talking to me, but I was too busy spacing out to realize.

  “What?” I asked dumbly.

  He gave me a look and I smiled innocently at him, “What do you want to eat? Pizza or spaghetti?”

  “Pizza is fine,” I told him. I picked up my bag and ran upstairs telling him I would see him later.

  As an only child I can admit that I might have been slightly more spoiled then other kids. I mean for one thing I have two rooms. One’s my bedroom – you know, that place I sleep, and the other is a room I dedicated to my vastly growing book collection, otherwise known as my own personal library.

  I headed there now and felt myself relax. At one point this had been my play room, holding the numerous toys that slowly were replaced by things that I liked as I grew older. The only thing remaining now from then is the fairy boarder along the tops of the walls, but I liked them. I had a large couch pushed against the back wall underneath the windows and my dad helped me build in shelves to fit against the walls. A large plush area rug had been sat in the middle of the room, making the entire thing feel more comfy.

  I loved this room with everything in it and I never let anyone in it.

  Ever.

  I pulled the books I had bought earlier from their bag and smiled at them. These were my true friends. The people between these pages knew more about me then the actual friends I have will ever know.

  I curled up at one end of the couch and flipped to the beginning of the book.

  Chapter 2

  I Try Confrontation, It Doesn’t Work

  The main character in my book just found out her best friend is the villain, and honestly I can’t handle this. Well, not in a bad way, more of a pleasant sort of way.

  Dad called me down for dinner and I sighed. I really wanted to know what happened next. I put a bookmark in my book and sat it on the table next to the couch.

  When I wandered downstairs I saw that dad had taken a shower in his process of waiting for the pizza guy to bring us our food. His sandy blonde hair was sticking up on one side where he had dried it off and his glasses were sliding off his nose. I patted his hair down as I walked past to grab a plate. I wanted to look like my dad. I looked so much like my mom it was almost ridiculous. Long straight black hair, hazel eyes. The one thing I do know is I got my height from my dad. He’s a tall, lanky man.

  I sit at the table with him, he grabs my hand and I can tell today he wants to pray. We don’t do this every time we sit down to eat – mainly just the times he remembers. It’s not like we’re religious or anything. Dad grew up in a strict religious household and sometimes he remembers he’s supposed to be thankful for his food before he inhales it like a starving person. He asks me about my day.

  I tell him about the rude person that insisted that I made his drink wrong, even though he stood there and watched me make it. One thing I couldn’t stand people like that. If you have a problem, just tell me right then and there so I don’t have to go out of my way to make my job harder. I told him about another lady who slipped me an extra 10 bucks to add as many extra pumps of espresso into her drink as possible.

  I don’t know what she was going to do with all of that extra power, but kudos to her, I guess.

  Finally, I told him about the boy in the bookstore. About how odd he seemed at first. He didn’t seem to recognize the name – which made me believe that he’s probably new in town or this area. Or he goes to a different school and I may just never see him again. I frown at my pizza. Maybe I was really looking forward to having someone who knew their stuff from time to time.

  I shrug to myself, “Well, we both know it’s not like I was actually going to go out of my way to make friends with him.”

  “You know it won’t kill you to go out of your way to make some friends with people you actually relate to,” dad says, his mouth full of pizza.

  “I’m aware,” The thing is though, I don’t really know if I want to. I was nice to people out of necessity, but most people don’t even notice if you’re nice or not. Most people have their heads so far up their own asses that they don’t really seem to notice if you gave them a passing smile or took the time to say “hi” to them. People suck, let’s move on.

  Dad and I finished eating and washed dishes together – him washing, me drying. We wandered into the living room to watch some TV. We never actually talked a whole lot. We mainly conversed in a series of grunts with each other, like a couple old men. I guess that happens when you’re raised primarily by a man.

  I looked around the living room where a multitude of me’s looked back at me. From baby pictures of me in absolutely horrendous outfits that my dad must have thought was a good idea at the time, to the most recent one of me last school year. There was a couple of my grandparents from their 50th wedding anniversary too.

  They say whatever you have pictures of is what you keep closest to your heart. My neighbor had at least ten of every chihuahua she had ever had. Which meant there wasn’t a space on her walls that those ankle biting assholes wasn’t on.

  Dad had his arm wrapped around my shoulders and I had my head leaning back against his. We stayed like that until dad declared it his bedtime. He kissed the top of my head and walked down the hall to his bedroom.

  ***

  I sat in my car in front of the school and mentally tried to will myself out of my car. The first day is always by far the worst. I consider rolling my windows up and suffocating myself, but then I think about my dear old dad having to eat pizza every night for dinner. Bless his heart.

  I looked around at the almost full parking lot of people. I spotted Jet by his truck surrounded by his friends. Today was the day. I was going to have to break up with him. I’m so nervous I can feel myself shaking.

  I just had
to keep it short and sweet. It didn’t need to be this huge thing. I just had to walk up to him – look him straight in the eye and… I can’t do it yet. I’m just going to go inside for now.

  I got out of my car and started to make my way towards the wide double doors when I was spotted.

  “Ana! Hey, Ana!” I watched as Jet detached himself from the side of his truck and made his way over to me, “Hey, you made it!”

  I roll my eyes. He made it sound like I was late for a frat party and it was my turn at the keg. He pulled me to him in a bone crushing hug. Before, when he and I were just friends, something like this was fine. Now the smell of his cologne was enough to make me feel nauseated, and like I wanted to squirm out of my skin.

  “Hey, I want to talk to you...” I started.

  He smiled at me, the dimple in his cheek popping out.

  “Well, it’s just...” I started, but Jet was distracted by the fact one of his friends was calling for him. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  He just nodded and bounced back towards his truck.

  ***

  I walked the familiar path to my locker. I wanted to climb inside of it and not show my face ever again. How chicken shit did I have to be to not be able to break up with one boy?

  I’m a fearless woman who isn’t going to be tied down to no dumbass man, who isn’t good enough for me. The blue and yellow everywhere was supposed to make my day be cheery and happy, but the only thing I felt was hollow guilt and annoyance at myself. I opened my locker and shoved my bag inside and grabbed the books I would need for the morning.

  “Ana Poppy! Where the hell have you been for the last three months?” I hear a familiar voice behind me and I smile a little to myself.

  I turn around and come face-to-face with the girl who’s been my best friend since middle school. Manga dealer? Yeah, this is her.

  A short, curvy girl, with dark skin. Usually sporting a size or two too big overalls, with a sweater or t-shirt underneath. Her big brown eyes hidden behind her wild curls. She doesn’t look like her now, though – her pretty curls are straight down her back. It makes her look more like her mom, who’s full blooded Latina, than her dad. The make-up on her face didn’t seem needed to me, I’ve always been envious of her pretty ebony colored skin.